Golden Boy
by SydneyLouWho
Summary: Four times Finnick Odair wanted to die, and one time he didn't.


_four times Finnick Odair wanted to die, and one time he didn't_

* * *

Finnick Odair knew no pain before the 65th hunger games. He'd lived in a nice house with a nice family who loved him. He had the affection of every girl in his class. He had friends and good grades and he was happy. He was the golden boy, unscathed by any of the earth's evils.

Of course, _nothing gold can stay._

* * *

**one.**

Finnick could never forget the day that he was called out of his eighth grade math class by a Capitol official. He's been so excited to miss learning about the slopes of lines for the millionth time.

The lady who called him out of class had been pretty, with platinum blonde hair in a sleek updo. She wore a short black dress that showed a decent amount of cleavage but just didn't seem like it belonged on a Capitolite. He only realized years later that her appearance was probably to make herself seem attractive to him, so he'd hear her out. Even the president knew that fourteen-year-old boys have a very limited range of interest.

"Now that you've won the games," she began, "President Snow has a very special proposal for you. You see, being the physically attractive, charming young man that you are, you've become quite popular among the people of the Capitol."

Finnick blushed at her compliment. "So... so, what's the proposal?" he stammered.

Her red lips formed a smile. "Well," she began, leaning forward slightly, causing his eyes to automatically look down with interest at her chest, "there's a large market in the Capitol for... adult pleasure. We think you'd be a perfect candidate. Are you experienced in things of this nature?"

"You mean like sex? Of course I am," he lied, his face reddening.

She laughed and he knew he'd been caught in his lie. He'd always been a terrible liar. He'd have to work on that.

"We'll train you," she said simply, "we can't ask the citizens to pay for an amateur's services."

His eyes widened as he realized for the first time what she was really asking of him. "I don't want to be a prostitute," he said, snapping out of the trance she'd put him in, "I don't want the money and I definitely don't want to screw anyone from the _Capitol_."

Her pleasant façade faded away. "I'm sorry, Mr. Odair, but you really don't have a choice. Tell me, do you love your family?"

"Yes, I love my family."

"So you wouldn't be very happy if an _unfortunate_ accident took them away from you."

She paused, letting his words sink in. He felt, at that moment, that he couldn't breathe. "You couldn't do that," he breathed.

She chuckled. "Of course we can. We let you live through the games. We own you, Mr. Odair."

* * *

**two.**

Finnick may have been young and immature, but he knew better than to tell everyone about his _arrangement_ with the Capitol, so he told only four people. First, he had to inform his parents, which he knew would be hardest. His mother had cried all night and Finnick had cried with her. He couldn't imagine how she felt, losing her perfect, innocent baby to the Capitol. He was sure that if she didn't have his younger sister to think of, she'd tell him to refuse the president's proposal and sacrifice her own life to let her son have the freedom to make his own choices regarding his body.

He'd then confided in Mags, someone he knew would understand his situation. Somehow he knew that she would be quite familiar with the Capitol's manipulative and cruel nature.

The last person he'd gone to was his childhood best friend, Annie Cresta. He'd debated whether to tell her anything, knowing that any pain Annie ever felt was a direct result of the pain of another person, and he didn't want to cause her pain, but he also knew that, as her best friend, he shouldn't keep secrets from her. She'd cried for him, as he'd expected.

"You mean to say that your first time will be with a complete stranger?"

"I guess so," he said, focusing his eyes on the sand that they were sitting on. He began tracing circles in the wet sand with his index finger.

She bit her bottom lip, unsure of what to say. He looked up to find that she was studying his face. For once, he couldn't read her expression.

"You know," she said quietly, "it doesn't have to be that way. I'm always here for you."

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but he wasn't surprised. It was so very _Annie_. She was the type of girl to sacrifice herself for others, piece by tiny piece, until she was nothing.

"If I made you do that, I'd be as bad as the Capitol."

"But what if I _wanted_ to, Finnick."

He looked up at her with surprise. He'd never really considered it until then. He'd known her since they were babies and he could still remembered the little, gap-toothed girl with big eyes that he'd played hide-and seek with. Her eyes were still decently big, but she was no longer and awkward little kid anymore; she was a young lady, growing more lovely by the year. She'd seemed to have grown out of her awkward middle-school phase earlier than most.

He brushed her dark hair out of her eyes and looked into her eyes. "Is this something you really want to, you know, do it?"

"I'd do anything for you, Finnick. I love you." He couldn't find a hint of insincerity in her soft voice.

He had no idea if her confession of love was platonic, romantic, or a little bit of both, but he leaned in and kissed her lips. He was sure that it was her first kiss, since she really hadn't had any boys looking at her, as she was not generically pretty, the kind of pretty that fourteen-year-old boys generally focus on. Her lips were dry and tasted of salt, and she really wasn't sure how to kiss, but he didn't really mind.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked gently, placing his hand on top of hers in the sand affectionately.

"My house, I guess," he said.

They made their way across the sand, her small hand in is. When they made their way up three flights of stairs to Finnick's room, she pushed herself backwards onto the bed and he locked the door and joined her. She looked nervous, but not of him, of what was about to happen, a normal thing to frighten even the most willing.

"Are you sure?" he asked one last time. She replied with a slight nod and he kissed her softly again. Kissing was something he knew he was good at. His hands wandered to where they felt right, from her thighs to her breasts, although most of her body was covered with her dress. She shivered, never having been touched like that in her life. Her fingers danced on his bare back.

He started to unbutton his pants as she slid the hem of her dress up farther on her legs.

They were not lovers, then, and not friends, either, but children having to make adult decisions so that one of them wouldn't live with as much regret.

The next time he unbuttoned his pants in front of someone was not as pleasant or comfortable.

A tall woman stood in the center of a large bedroom in which a huge, silk-sheeted bed was the main focus. She wore a short, magenta wig and a pink, lacy undergarment-of-sorts that didn't leave much to the imagination. The look on her face when he entered the room made him want to vomit. His palms were damp and he wiped them on his pants.

"Okay, show me what I'm paying for," she demanded in a high-pitched Capitol accent that pierced the air and set his teeth on edge.

He fumbled with the button on the nice, black pants he'd been ordered to wear, his hands trembling. He remembered what he'd been taught: to smile slightly and always appear confident, but at that point he wanted to just die already and could care less about his lessons.

He eventually got his pants off as well as every other article of clothing from his body and he stood, feeling exposed, in front of her, waiting for a response.

"Better than I'd thought," she breathed, her eyes fixed on one place in particular that most definitely was not his handsome face. He stepped forward and kissed her neck, just as he'd been told to do, while keeping one hand on the opposite side of her neck and the other somewhere below her wide hips. He remembered that it was the client to be pleasured, not him, although he didn't see how anything he could do with these people would bring him any form of pleasure.

Finnick was told that gold couldn't rust, but the rust was tarnishing his skin with every touch that the nameless woman placed on his skin. He started to wonder if he wasn't real gold in the first place.

The whole time he was wishing it were Annie there underneath him, but he wasn't quite sure why. He made a promise to himself that if he ever was freed from his current hell and could be the lover she deserved, he'd marry her.

* * *

**three.**

His world broke apart all over again when the name "Annie Cresta" was pulled from the reaping bowl. She'd turn nineteen in less than a month. _So close_, and yet _so far_.

He held his breath, wishing on every star he knew was hidden in the sky that someone would volunteer, but, for once, the world was silent.

It dawned on him that he'd have to train his best friend and almost-lover to fight (or, knowing her, _not fight_) in a games that he was sure the odds wouldn't be in her favor.

He held her that night on the train as she cried, her sobs shaking her thin body. He cried with her, silently, softly enough that she wouldn't know he was crying. He knew that what she needed was someone strong, but he just couldn't be that person for her right then.

As much as Finnick pleaded, Annie refused to work with any weapon in training. Instead, she sat tying intricate knots or testing herself at the plant station.

"They're useful skills that are often overlooked, Finnick," she'd said, "I don't see the point in learning a skill I know I'll never use." He knew it was true, but that didn't mean her refusal to _try_ hurt him any less.

It had been nearly five years since their night on the beach and he loved her, more than anything, but she either didn't notice or his feelings just weren't reciprocated. He felt terrible; he'd taken advantage of her kindness when they were so young and she'd only loved him platonically.

The third time he'd kissed her was right before he let her go. "I love you, Annie Cresta. I just wanted you to know. And I'm sorry."

"I love you too, Finnick. Goodbye."

And with that, she was gone for what he'd been sure would be forever.

The world was broken. The world was unfair. The world was cruel. Finnick Odair didn't want to live in it anymore; he wanted to end it right then, and he would have if he didn't have the responsibility to try his very hardest to keep Annie alive for as long as he could.

* * *

**four.**

It seemed as if he was always letting her slip from his grasp. First, he'd let her go into a games in which he was certain she'd die (and he knew she would rather have died than live the way she did after the games, always running from the horrifying images that projected themselves on her eyelids, never able to escape). Then, he'd let the Capitol take her, the one thing he swore he'd never let happen to her.

His nightmares, which had previously been occupied by images of the games and blood and death, were now images of Annie being tortured. He pictured his frail love, brown hair hanging in her face, sitting in a cold, dark room alone. Maybe they'd show her videos of the games she'd won, bringing back memories that she'd tried her hardest to suppress. Maybe they'd do things to her that his subconscious mind wasn't imaginative enough to think up.

He spent his nights sobbing and wishing they'd taken him instead.

* * *

**five.**

The one time Finnick felt completely whole was on his wedding day.

She looked so beautiful, her brown hair flowing down her back and her long dress blowing in the breeze, but no more beautiful than she did any other day.

The ceremony seemed to last an eternity, because all he wanted to do was kiss her pink lips and have her be his forever.

Later, lying together in his bed, legs intertwined, he was the happiest he'd ever been.

"Annie Odair," he said softly into her hair, "it has a nice ring to it."

She smiled. "It really does."

They were silent for a while, just enjoying each other's presence and the warmth of each other's bodies, until she spoke again. "You know, I always feel better when I'm with you. You make me feel safe. You make me feel like I'm okay, even when I'm not."

"I can't imagine why you'd feel that way, all I've done is let you break."

"No, you saved me, Finnick. You saved me with your words and you saved me with your actions. You saved me by never giving up on me and always caring. The thought of maybe seeing you again was the only one that gave me any kind of will to live in the Capitol. I'm sorry I've been such a burden for all this time, but I love you for not giving up on me."

"You've never been a burden." He brushed the hair out of her eyes gently.

She tightened her grip around him, pulling herself closer to him and resting her head on his chest. "Do you think I'd make a good mother?" she asked quietly. "I want us to have babies and a family so badly, but I'm afraid I'd be an awful mother."

"You'd be a wonderful mother, I sure of it," he said softly, "you're so full of love and kindness, our children would never feel unloved."

"Let's have babies, Finnick. Let's have babies soon, after the war. And we can live in a little house on the beach."

"That sounds perfect, Annie. I look forward to an eternity with you."

As she fell asleep in his arms, he began to think that maybe he did want to live because, even in their cruel and unforgiving world, he'd always have her.

He drifted off into the best sleep he'd had in years, unaware that the days in their eternity were numbered.

* * *

**I'm not really sure how I feel about this fic, but I spent a lot of time writing it, which is why I'm posting it.**

**Thanks to Brooke (and Brooke Stays Silver) for helping with little characterization things.**


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